


The Life He Chose

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 10:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5124164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are you even doing here?”</p><p>“I told you, I’ll go mad if I don’t talk to anyone.  I can leave, if you’d rather.”</p><p>Bellamy should have taken Clarke's offer, but he waved his hand.  “I meant here.  The Wall.  What would a southron lady like you want here?”  If she was truly looking for Lord Stark, all she had to do was send a raven and request an escort down the kingsroad.  The Starks would send men to meet her and take her the rest of the way.  But she wasn’t leaving, and seemed to be in no hurry to do so.</p><p>Lady Manderly was on the run, that much was clear.  But from whom?  And why didn’t she trust the Warden of the North to protect her?</p><p>(The 100 meets A Song of Ice and Fire.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Life He Chose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alienor_woods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienor_woods/gifts).



> A crossover with the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, set roughly one hundred years before A Game of Thrones. Dedicated to the lovely, talented, and beautiful labonsoirfemme.

Bellamy frowned at the ledger in front of him and scratched out a notation— Jasper was wrong, wheat was going for five dragons a bushel these days, not four.  Which meant all the calculations in the entire list were off and Bellamy would have to do them over again.  He cursed to himself and decided to go see what the kitchens were making for dinner instead. The party setting off for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea wasn’t leaving for another two weeks so the ledger could wait for a few hours.

 

 _Still, the Starks could have done something to refill Castle Black’s coffers as they left,_ he grumbled to himself.  Hosting the Lord of Winterfell and all his retainers had sorely depleted their stores, and at the Wall, winter was always looming.  

 

Bellamy brooded as he crossed the yard from the storehouse to the main hall, light reflecting off the Wall.  Thelonius Stark might be an honorable man, but it was men like him that had condemned Bellamy to this frozen, grim existence.  Bellamy had poached from Karstark land, true, but to give him the choice between death or the Wall— both of which left Octavia alone— for trying to feed his family seemed unnecessarily cruel.  But he had chosen the black and served faithfully until word reached him that Octavia had been taken by a band of wildlings.  He was on the brink of desertion when Miller returned from a ranging and announced that a spearwife was waiting in the woods beyond the Wall to speak with him.  Maybe Bellamy shouldn’t have been surprised to find that his sister had willingly left with the wildlings, but he was.  She was happy beyond the Wall, happy and free.

 

Two things Bellamy wasn’t.

 

He didn’t hate the Night’s Watch.  Some of the men weren’t so bad, and he had come to view some of them as true brothers.  The elder Miller was a fair Lord Commander and Bellamy himself had risen high in the Watch simply by virtue of being one of the few lowborn men who could read and do sums in his head.  Sons of lesser knights always preferred to be rangers, leaving the stewards to make do with whomever else managed to learn to read.  Bellamy would never have chosen to say those words without a sword at his neck, but it was his life now.

 

The hall was overly warm and Bellamy shrugged out of his black cloak.  There seemed to be more conversation than usual, but his mind was stuck on their stores.  Wheat would last longer and stretch farther than fruits brought up from the Reach, but the men would soon sicken if all they had to eat was stale bread.  It might be mid-summer, but the days were too short and sun too weak this far north to grow fruits.   _One-quarter of the next shipment needs to be fruits and vegetables we can’t grow here, if not more_ , he resolved.

 

Miller took a seat next to him on the benches and knitted his eyebrows.  “Lord Commander is looking for you,” he said.  Miller was the Lord Commander’s son by a whore out of Mole’s Town, brought to the Wall by his father as soon as he could hold a sword, but he still kept up the pretense of being no more than a brother of the Watch.  “He needs you to find a room for our esteemed guest.”

 

Bellamy’s eyebrows rose.  “More guests?  We just got rid of the Starks,” he grumbled.

 

“One guest,” Miller corrected.  “Just one.  But a lady, so she’ll be needing more than just a room in the barracks.”

 

“What’s a lady doing at the Wall?”

 

“No idea.”  Miller bit into his trencher of bread and venison stew.  “But I bet the Lord Commander will tell you,” he said pointedly.

 

Bellamy climbed off the bench with a sour look and wound his way through the courtyard again up to the Lord Commander’s solar.  “You wanted to see me, ser?” he asked as he stepped inside.

 

It took his eyes a moment to adjust from the bright sunlight to the dim light of the Commander’s chambers.  Commander Miller stood by his desk, imposing even in his simple black jerkin.  For a moment Bellamy thought he was alone, but then he saw her— a young woman with long blonde hair drawn into a braid over her shoulder.  She wore a dark blue dress that had seen better days, stained and tattered and torn but clearly of expensive make.  Octavia never owned anything half as fine, and the silver clip holding her dark green cloak was worth more than anything he had owned.

 

“Ah, good, I see Nathan found you.  Lady Manderly, I would like to present to you our First Steward, Bellamy Blake.  Blake, this is Lady Clarke Manderly.”

 

Bellamy’s brain whirred, trying to piece together what a Manderly of White Harbor was doing at Castle Black, but Lady Manderly intervened.  “I came hoping to find Lord Stark here, but it appears I missed him and will have to impose on your hospitality,” she said.  She kept her shoulders straight like a soldier and her manner was direct, not much like he imagined a woman of her stature would be.

 

“You didn’t see his party on the kingsroad?” Bellamy asked a little suspiciously.  Stark and his men left less than a week ago, and at forty some men would have been a hard group to miss.

 

Lady Manderly’s blue eyes darted to the window.  “I was staying off the kingsroad,” she explained.  Only that didn’t explain anything at all, and Bellamy knew she knew it.

 

He nodded at her and looked to Commander Miller. “How many rooms should I ready, ser?”

 

“Just one,” Lady Manderly interjected.  “I travel alone.”

 

“Alone?  A great lady like you?”

 

Her eyes tightened and her jaw clenched.  “Alone,” she repeated.  “I don’t need much.  Just a place to sleep until I can send a raven to Winterfell.  I will be forever indebted, Ser Blake.”

 

“Just Blake,” he corrected.

 

“Lady Manderly is under our protection until Lord Stark can return,” Commander Miller explained with a note of warning.  

 

Bellamy swallowed his pride and gave the Lady Manderly a short bow.  “This way, m’lady.  The King’s Tower should have sufficient rooms.  Will we need to send to Mole’s Town for a maid?”  He didn’t see any trunks in the commander’s solar, but she likely had an overburdened horse somewhere near the gates.  And women like her couldn’t function without assistance.

 

She pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders.  “I’m quite alright on my own.  Thank you for your kindness, Lord Commander.  Lead the way, Blake.”

 

He watched her taking stock of the castle as they walked down the outdoor stair from the Lord Commander’s chambers. The wind sent a flurry of snow from the roof dancing past their faces and glittering in the sun.  “I’ll need a change of clothes,” she said as they ducked into the King’s Tower.

 

“We’re a little short on fine gowns at the Wall, m’lady,” he replied drily.

 

“Whatever you have on hand is fine,” she said, matching his tone.  “I am not here for tournaments and festivities.”  

 

Bellamy led her to the floor above his own rooms and opened the door to the chambers recently occupied by Lord Stark.  “I’ll send someone to build you a fire.  And post someone at your door.”

 

Lady Manderly waved her hand dismissively.  “I won’t be needing a guard here.”

 

“I’m afraid you do, m’lady.  There’s good men on the Wall, but there’s rapers and murderers too.  And if you’re under our protection, that means protection from my brothers, if necessary.  Jasper will be up shortly.”  He strode out without a second glance and went to find Jasper in the underground store rooms.  Jasper was excited at the prospect of having another noble in residence and bounded out to attend to the Lady of White Harbor while Bellamy returned to the Lord Commander’s solar.  He found Lord Miller watching the courtyard from his window, his hands clasped behind his back.  Bellamy had often wondered what a lord from the Crownlands was doing on the Wall, but Lord Miller had never told anyone his reason for joining the Watch.

 

“How long can we expect Lady Manderly to stay?” Bellamy asked, silently running through the enormous list of things she would likely require.   _Firewood, two guards at all times, a set of blacks to replace her gown, fabric for a new gown, and meals from the Lord Commander’s table_.

 

“As long as she needs,” Lord Miller replied.  “Your views on nobles are well known, but she has requested our help.”

 

“The Night’s Watch takes no part,” Bellamy protested.  

 

“That may be true, but I will not send a young woman back into the wilds of the north when she has requested our aid.”

 

“Then let me send someone after Lord Stark.  If she intended to meet him here, surely he’ll return to collect her.”

 

“She has asked to stay until she can create other arrangements.  It is not for us to dictate her business. And I have— I have concerns about Lord Stark.  Concerns that are not to leave this room, but he is not the man I used to know. Losing his son unmanned him.”  Lord Stark’s heir had died fighting reavers off the coast of Pyke two years ago, Bellamy knew.  The news had rocked the North, but had little to do with the business of the Watch.  “See that Lady Manderly has whatever she requires.”  Bellamy nodded stiffly and turned to go.  “And Blake?" Commander Miller called.  "Be polite.”

 

***

  
  


Despite hearing her move around above him in the mornings and evenings, Bellamy managed to avoid her Ladyship for the next several days.  Jasper and Monty took turns bringing her meals and taking her letters to Maester Nyko and his ravens.  Bellamy and the Lord Commander set four men on rotation outside her door until Monty built a crossbar lock for her rooms and then he saw even less of her. Bellamy had almost forgotten about her entirely when she walked through his door without knocking.

 

It was odd— even in the black woolen breeches, jerkin, and cloak of the Night’s Watch, Lady Manderly still looked every inch the noblewoman.  She took a seat across from him and sighed.  “If I spend another night trapped in those rooms I’ll go mad,” she announced.

 

Bellamy glanced up from his rolls of parchment.  “I’m sorry the Wall does not provide the entertainment you’d hoped, m’lady,” he grumbled.

 

She ignored his jibe and picked up a sheaf of parchment.  “Call me Clarke.  All this “my lady” business is too stiff.”  Clarke frowned at the numbers in front of her.  “You’re paying too much for wheat, you know.”

 

Bellamy pinched the bridge of his nose.  “I know.  Those are old figures— it’s five dragons a bushel, not four.”

 

“Five?  Whoever is handling your trading is being swindled.  It’s three dragons a bushel down in White Harbor.”

 

“Three?”  It had been a good summer so far, but three dragons a bushel was almost unheard of.

 

“Three,” she confirmed.  “The Reach and the Riverlands had strong harvests a few months ago.  If Eastwatch is being charged five dragons, you need to send someone to White Harbor instead.”

 

If she was telling it true, the Watch would save thousands of dragons over the next few months and could even send off for a second shipment of fruits.  But Bellamy was exhausted and determined to be sour, so he grunted rather than thanking her.  “What are you even doing here, if I may ask?”

 

“I told you, I’ll go mad if I don’t talk to anyone.  I can leave, if you’d rather.”

 

Bellamy should have taken her offer, but he waved his hand.  “I meant here.  The Wall.  What would a southron lady like you want here?”  If she was truly looking for Lord Stark, all she had to do was send a raven and request an escort down the kingsroad.  The Starks would send men to meet her and take her the rest of the way.  But she wasn’t leaving, and seemed to be in no hurry to do so.

 

Lady Manderly was on the run, that much was clear.   _But from whom?  And why doesn't she trust the Warden of the North to protect her?_

 

“The Manderly’s are not southrons,” she protested.  

 

“You keep the seven,” Bellamy countered.

 

“The Manderly’s have held Wolf’s Den for the Starks for a thousand years,” Clarke bit back.  “We are no tender southron flowers.”  She set her chin, defiant, but did not answer his question.  She tossed the parchment back on his desk and stalked out of his solar without another word.

 

Lady Manderly did not return to his rooms for another three nights.  She hardly left her rooms above him, although Maester Nyko went up often to confer with her.  “She knows a great deal about healing, for a lady,” Nyko confided one evening over dinner.  

 

“She complimented my crossbar lock,” Monty chimed in.  “Said it was the most ingenious device she’d ever seen.”

 

“And she’s pretty,” Jasper pointed out.  “Very pretty.”

 

Bellamy huffed and stood up.  “Bellamy resents her,” Murphy explained to the rest of the table unecessarily.  “Thinks she has no business here.”

 

“I think she should stay as long as she likes,” Monty said.  

 

Bellamy narrowed his eyes, but his friends had long since stopped pretending to be afraid of him.  “I— it’s no matter what I think.  I just think the Wall is no place for a lady.”  He left the hall but on his way back to his rooms he found the woman herself walking across the courtyard.

 

“You shouldn’t be unescorted,” he scolded.  As he told her that first day, many of the men on the Wall were honorable, but many more were not.  And while Bellamy might not like the Lady of White Harbor much, he did not wish to see her injured in any way.

 

She made a rude noise instead.  “I’m a guest, not a prisoner.  And I think more highly of your brothers than you do.”

 

Bellamy fell into step beside her, their cloaks flapping in the wind.  “Where are you headed?”

 

“Monty said there’s a library in this direction.  Is that allowed, or do I need your permission to read, too?”  She spoke lightly, but there was an edge to her tone.

 

Bellamy felt a little chagrined.   _I’m not an invalid_ , Octavia had sneered at him more than once.   _You’re going to smother me to death._ “I’m sorry, m’lady.  It’s a habit.  My sister always used to scold me for being too protective.”

 

She raised an eyebrow.  “A sister?”

 

“A sister,” Bellamy echoed.  He did not feel like dealing with highborn scorn over Octavia becoming a spearwife, so he declined to elaborate, even though she clearly wanted him too.  Bellamy held open the door to Castle Black’s library and let her pass.  “I should warn you.  Most of our books are...not what a lady might seek for amusement.”

 

Lady Manderly chuckled.  “Do you really think I’d expect the Night’s Watch to have romances?  I’d just like something to pass the time.”

 

The corners of his mouth twitched.  “We do have Septon Eustace’s account of the Dance of Dragons.  He’s far too kind to Ser Criston Cole, but his writing is...sufficient.”

 

She smiled at his slight on the the man who chose an unworthy younger brother to rule over his sister, purely on the basis of his sex.  “That sounds delightful.  Where is it?”

 

Bellamy strode down the narrow warren to find the bound copy.  He’d read it within his first two weeks at the Wall— good books were few and far between this far north.  Most of the histories were ponderous tomes, even for him, but offered far more opportunities than he would have ever had as the son of a disgraced seamstress.

 

Lady Manderly accepted the book and together they headed back to the King’s Tower.  Bellamy offered her his arm when they walked across a patch of well-packed snow that was in the process of turning to ice and she accepted without comment, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow.

 

It had been years since someone had stood so close to him, save his brothers.  Octavia always hugged him on nights that he snuck into the Haunted Forest to meet her, but the simple touch of Lady Manderly’s hand through his woolen shirt took his breath away.  He bid her goodbye at his door and ducked in as quickly as he could, eager to have some space and get his heart to stop racing.

 

Bellamy had never intended to take the black, but had he not he never would have had two rooms to himself down near Last Hearth.  He, his mother, and Octavia had shared their cramped, one-room cabin, and even after his mother’s death the cabin always seemed too small.  Now his solar alone was the size of his old home thanks to his position as an officer.  It wasn’t usual for a bastard son of a peasant to rise so quickly to First Steward, but it wasn’t unheard of either.  Bellamy built up his fire and set his lamp on the edge of his desk.  Lady Manderly’s new information about wheat had lingered in his mind and he wanted to sort it out before his men made the trip to Eastwatch-by-the-sea.

 

An hour later, his door opened and in walked Lady Manderly, still clad in her borrowed blacks.  She paused just over the threshold.  “I thought you might want some more help with the ledgers,” she explained.

 

Bellamy gestured wordlessly to the chair she’d sat in before and shoved a stack of parchment in her general direction.  Murphy was telling the truth when he told the men Bellamy resented her, but he had to admit she had a certain keenness about her that Bellamy craved.  His brothers at the Wall were good men, to be sure, but he always felt a little separate from them.

 

Somehow, he didn’t feel quite so different from her.

 

“We have three crofters in the New Gift supplying us with wool, but it isn’t enough.  I’m not sure if it’s worth the expense and men to handle it at the Wall,” he explained.

 

She flipped through the parchment with a critical eye.  “Raw wool or woven?”

 

“Woven.”

 

“The Reeds have a few weavers in their lands— have you spoken with them?”

 

“The Reeds,” Bellamy repeated.  “From the Neck?”  He should know the nobles of the North better than he did, but his resentment of them had kept him stubbornly in the dark.  “That’s clean on the other side of the North from White Harbor, is it not?”

 

“My husband was a Reed.”  She did not look up, but he saw a slight spasm of pain cross her face.

 

“Your husband?”   _Is she on the run from him?_

 

“Mmmhmm.”  Bellamy waited, and eventually she took a shaky breath.  “He died.”

 

“I’m sorry, m’lady,” he said gently.  “Is that— is that why you’re at the Wall instead of White Harbor?”

 

She tossed the parchment back on his desk and looked at him square in the eye.  “I will explain why I’m here on one condition— you call me Clarke, stop this _my ladying_.”  Bellamy nodded and she continued.  “I’m here because an awful old man gave the wrong son a sword.”

 

Bellamy raised an eyebrow, because that was far too cryptic.

 

Clarke sighed.  “Redgrass Field.  I lost my husband at Redgrass Field, and White Harbor lost its lord and his brother, and both their sons.”

 

Word of the slaughter at Redgrass Field had reached the Wall only recently, but he knew it had been costly victory for the Targaryens.  “I did not realize the North had sent men to put down the Blackfyres,” he ventured, because that was not nearly enough reason for her to run.

 

“The Starks did not.  Thelonius would not risk his men, not after he lost his son.  But my uncles and cousins wanted glory, and my husband went with them, and in one day they were all gone.  My mother and I were the last Manderlys left in White Harbor, and one of our bannermen made an offer of marriage to me that was less of an offer and more of a demand.”  She swallowed thickly.  “Two days after I received word of my husband’s death, Cage Wallace expected me to marry him.”

 

“I’m very sorry,” Bellamy said again.  

 

Clarke wiped her eyes and plowed on.  “The Wallace’s have always wanted to rule the Harbor, and felt that they should have inherited it when the Greystarks died out.  They never forgave us for usurping them, and they have hundreds of armed men at their beck and call.  My mother feared they would storm the New Castle and force me to marry him at swordpoint, so I bribed a river runner to bring me as far as Long Lake and then bought a horse to make my way to the Wall.”

 

“Why not Winterfell?  Surely Lord Stark could intervene.”

 

“Years ago, he might have.  But with the loss of Wells— he does not want to cause trouble with his other bannermen.  He’s just as like to tell me to marry Cage as offer me sanctuary.”

 

“Why not somewhere else?  Why not your husband’s people at Greywater Watch?” Bellamy asked.  After all, the Wall had scarce comforts for a woman of her stature.

 

“I needed somewhere that I knew would be neutral, and my mother knew Ser Miller when they were children.  He’s a good, fair man, and I needed a place to plan how to avoid bloodshed in White Harbor.”

 

“What of your mother and father?  They stayed behind?”

 

“My father died years ago.  And my mother is not a Manderly by birth, or even of the North.  My father was a younger son, so his marriage mattered little.  She hasn’t been able to bear children since my birth so even if Cage married her, he would be left without an heir and the seat would return to me and my children.  And her captain of the guard is...very devoted.  She’s safe.  I wasn’t.  So I ran.”  Bellamy nodded and when she turned her attention back to the papers, he let the matter drop.  He still wasn’t sure how she planned to re-take her seat, but trusted that she would tell him in time.  And meanwhile, he would enjoy her company.

 

From then on, every evening she would come into his solar under the guise of helping with the ledgers and they would spend the nights talking.  Bellamy started bringing Arbor wine to his rooms and within a week, they gave up the pretense of working and started sitting in front of his fire.  It had been years since he talked to someone like this, if he ever had.

 

“Do you think it’s true?” he asked one night as a light summer snow fell outside.

 

“What’s true?” Clarke asked after she swallowed her mouthful of wine.

 

“The slander about King Dareon.”

 

She leaned back against the legs of a chair and furrowed her brow in thought.  “It’s possible.  Why else would Prince Aemon give everything up to join the kingsguard?”

 

“To protect his sister,” Bellamy said.

 

Clarke stretched her legs out in front of her.  “But the kingsguard give up everything— their families, their lives, everything.  Why would you do just for your sister?  That’s the stuff of songs and tales of everlasting love.”

 

Bellamy shrugged. “Love is love.  I took the black for my sister.”

 

“You did?”

 

“I knew the laws and punishments for poaching, but it was that or watch her starve or whore herself out.  So I did it, and I’d do it again.”

 

Clarke took another sip of wine.  “Where is she now?”

 

“Beyond the Wall,” he said, staring into the fire.

 

She chuckled but stopped when he didn’t join in.  “You’re serious?  Your sister is a wildling?”

 

“She prefers Free Folk, but yes.  She ran off with a wil— a man of the Free Folk a few months after I took my vows.”  Bellamy risked a glance at her, but Clarke didn’t look disgusted or uncomfortable.  Surprised, perhaps.  But she was listening, so he decided to tell her.  “On the first night of the new moon, I go into the Haunted Forest to see her.  She’s happy and free and safe.”

 

Clarke leaned over and grabbed his hand.  She gave it a squeeze and smiled.  “I didn’t think that sort of love existed.”

 

“Didn’t you love your husband?”

 

“I did.  But— well, I loved him.  But I didn’t know him.  We were only married for a few months before he went south.  I guess I’ll never know if we loved each other that much.”  

 

Bellamy squeezed her hand back and eventually they drifted to other topics.

 

***

 

Bellamy was in the storehouse under the wall updating their tallies when Miller found him.  “The Lord Commander needs you at the stables— riders on the kingsroad.  He thinks they’re coming for Lady Manderly.”

 

Bellamy dropped his chalk and nearly bowled Miller over in his haste to leave.  He didn’t even stop to to wonder why the Lord Commander had requested the First Steward when facing possible armed men; he simply ran to the stables and found that Jasper had already saddled his horse.  Just beyond the gates of Castle Black he found the Lord Commander and five armed brothers, and together they cantered down the kingsroad toward Mole’s Town.  “We had reports of an armed party carrying a sigil, but our lady said they are not her men,” the Lord Commander explained.  

 

“She’s made no mention of anyone coming for her,” Bellamy agreed.  Ahead he saw several horses and riders appear over the next ridge, a blue and white banner hanging from a staff.

 

The Lord Commander slowed his horse to a walk as the armed men approached.  “I believe you have something that belongs to me,” said a man richly dressed in black velvet.  He had cold eyes and unnaturally pale skin, the sigil of a white tipped mountain sewn across his breast.  Cage Wallace, Bellamy assumed.  He was too young to be the lord, Dante, and none of the other men in the party wore anything near as fine.

 

Bellamy’s spine stiffened but he let Commander Miller take the lead.  “Do you accuse the Night’s Watch of thievery?” the Commander asked casually, but dropped his hand to his sword.

 

“Only of harboring a strong-willed girl,” Wallace replied.  Bellamy counted fifteen men, including Wallace, all armed and mounted.

 

“The Young Lady Manderly is under our protection,” Bellamy interrupted.

 

“I thought the Night’s Watch took no part in the quarrels of the kingdom.” Wallace’s eyes raked his body, cold and calculating.  Bellamy tightened his hand on the pommel of his sword.   _No wonder she ran.  Marrying him would be like bedding an ice spider._

“We do not,” Commander Miller said with a warning look toward Bellamy.  “But Lady Manderly has eaten of our bread and salt.  She is under our protection, as our Lord Steward said.”

 

“I seek no quarrel with the brothers of the Night’s Watch, but I am here to collect what is mine. Bring the girl out and we shall speak no more of this.”

 

Bellamy clenched his jaw and narrowed his mouth to a thin line.  He trusted his Lord Commander, but part of him felt it would be easier to run these men through and be done with it.  “She is a woman of noble birth— we will not hand her over like chattle,” Bellamy gritted out.  “And it is not our fault that she prefers the Wall over a marriage to you.”

 

Several of Wallace’s men drew their swords and Bellamy and his brothers did the same.  The men of the Night’s Watch were dramatically outnumbered, but Wallace flicked his eyes behind them.  Nathan, Jasper, Monty, and twenty other brothers of the Watch were riding down the kingsroad behind them, all heavily armed.  If Bellamy had been one of Wallace’s men he would have called for a truce, but instead Wallace spurred his horse forward and the two groups met with clanging steel and the clatter of hooves.

 

Bellamy rode the first man down with a vicious overhand slice and met the second man’s sword with his own, and within minutes he was lost in a battle haze, parrying and thrusting and blocking as best he could with no shield.  Wallace’s men all wore mail while Bellamy had on no more than boiled wool and leather, but the Lord Commander had drilled them well.  

 

He wheeled his horse and headed toward a man with an axe giving the younger Miller a stiff fight, but in his haste to get to his friend he did not see the the man to his right.  The sword bit into his side, slicing through his blacks as if they were silk and burning across his torso.  Bellamy grunted and turned his attention to his attacker.  He succeeded in knocking the man off his horse, and his opponent soon threw down his sword and begged for mercy.

 

Within minutes, all of Wallace’s men were dead, wounded, or surrendering, including the young Lord of the Mountain himself.  Wallace had lost four men, the Night’s Watch none, although Bellamy and six others were wounded and bleeding.  Lord Commander Miller remounted his horse but kept his steel bared.  “You would be wise to run, Lord Wallace.  We will overlook this attempt on Castle Black once, but not again.”

 

Bellamy blinked through the pain and watched as Wallace and his remaining men mounted their remaining horses and took off down the kingsroad.  He vaguely heard the Lord Commander order a few brothers to stay behind and build cairns for the bodies, but by the time they started back to Castle Black, his vision was going spotty.

 

By the time he fell off his horse, he only saw black.

 

***

 

Bellamy opened his eyes to find he was in his bed chamber, lit by two small oil lamps.  It was full dark, even though he remembered riding out to meet Wallace and his men at midday.  “Go find Maester Nyko; he’s awake,” a feminine voice ordered.

 

Bellamy blinked rapidly as Clarke bent over his bed and placed a cool hand on his forehead.  “Do you know where you are?” she asked, two lines appearing between her eyebrows as she frowned.

 

“Castle Black.  My rooms.  How long was I out?”

 

“A day and a half.  You lost a lot of blood and your wound got infected, but the fever kept you unconscious for the worst of it.”  Bellamy tried to sit up, but his side screamed in pain.  Clarke pushed his shoulders firmly back into the feather mattress.  “You’re on strict bedrest until the maester and I say otherwise.  I worked hard on those stitches and I won’t have you tearing them out by being stubborn.”

 

Bellamy sagged back against his pillows with a groan.  “And when did a lady from White Harbor find time to study at the Citadel?” he asked sarcastically.

 

“We had an indulgent maester in the New Castle.  He taught my mother and I enough.”  She perched on the edge of his bed and handed him a goblet.  “Milk of the poppy,” she explained.  “And yes, you need it,” she said before he could protest.

 

It was thick and sweet, but Clarke pulled it from him far too soon.  “I thought you said I needed it,” he whined.

 

“You do, but not too much.  Maester Nyko will want you awake when he examines you.”

 

Nyko walked into his chambers, his chain clinking softly.  “Since when do stewards join battles?” he clucked.  Clarke moved out of his way and Nyko tugged up his tunic, exposing the plaster that ran from his navel to the edge of his ribs.  He peeled it back and revealed neat, even stitches holding the skin together.  “Lady Manderly has a steady hand,” Nyko observed.  “This is healing quite well.  How are you feeling?”

 

“Like I got stabbed in the gut.”

 

Nyko snorted and stroked his thick beard.  “Any trouble breathing?”  Bellamy shook his head.  “Then I will leave you in her capable hands for the evening.  Send someone if he develops a fever,” Nyko told Clarke.

 

“Are you my nursemaid?” Bellamy asked when Nyko closed the door.

 

“Seemed the least I could do,” she said, bending over and helping him lift his head to drink more milk of the poppy.  Her braid dangled over her shoulder, glinting in the lamplight.  “You took a sword for me.”

 

“Wallace was threatening the Watch.”  His tongue felt thick and his vision started fading.

 

“You could have just turned me over.  No one would have blamed you,” she countered.

 

He was already sinking into blackness but lifted his hand and fingered the end of her braid.  “Never,” he rasped before the poppy pulled him under.

 

***

 

Bellamy’s recovery was slow, but much of the work of the Lord Steward could be done from his rooms.  He had to trust Jasper’s counts in the store rooms and wouldn’t be able to inspect their farms in the Gift, but he spent his days as Clarke ordered, in his bed with ledgers scattered around him.  He came to rely on her more and more, and on days he needed milk of the poppy Clarke would read the reports and he would simply trust her opinion.  Eventually he was able to make it out of his bed and into the solar, but still Clarke stayed.

 

Nyko brought her letters frequently, which often made her frown.  She would throw the letter into the fire and return to their work with nary a word, until the day Nyko brought her a letter sealed with dark green wax and the emblem of a bear.  Clarke stared at it as if it was a viper.

 

“Everything alright?” he asked, even though something was clearly amiss.  He was sitting up in his bed with ledgers scattered around him, having given up on sitting at his table for the evening.

 

“It’s from Bear Island,” Clarke replied.  “Lady Raven Mormont.”  Monty had grown up on Bear Island and Bellamy had heard endless stories about Lady Raven and her fearlessness.  If Monty was telling it true, she was half goddess and half trickster demon, and her people loved her fiercely.  But none of this explained the look of fear and sadness on Clarke’s face.

 

She set the letter down unopened.  “My husband was betrothed to her before he met me.  I knew nothing of their engagement and we wed quickly— I only found out after the ceremony.  I thought she should hear the news of Finn’s death from me, but she didn’t reply for so long I thought the raven had gone astray.  And now…”

 

“Now you’re worried what she’ll have to say.”  Clarke nodded and Bellamy laid his hand out, palm up.  She slipped her fingers into his, clasping them tightly for just a moment, and then breaking the seal.  

 

She perched on the edge of the mattress and read quietly, tears welling in her eyes.  “She heard before I wrote, but she thanks me for telling her anyway.  Says she’s glad he was happy.”  Her voice broke on the last word and the tears streamed down her cheeks.

 

Impulsively, Bellamy wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged her closer.  He was bordering on treason— _I shall take no wife and father no sons_ — but Bellamy never wanted to say the damn words anyway.  It was the Wall or a headsman, so he chose the black.  Clarke curled into him and rested her cheek on his shoulder and let him tangle his fingers in her hair as she cried.  He whispered nonsense into her hair until the tears ceased.

 

Clarke wiped her cheeks and sniffled.  “You’re likely wondering what the other letters are,” she said shakily.

 

Bellamy pulled his head back to peer into her eyes.  “If you want to tell me.”

 

Clarke settled back against the goosedown pillows and stretched her legs out.  She was still wearing the black woolen trousers of the Night’s Watch, even though Bellamy had procured several yards of thick grey wool so she could stitch herself a new dress.  “Most are pleas for men.  My mother thinks the Wallaces’ are plotting to raise an army and take the New Castle.  They’re well prepared for a siege, but an extended one could hurt the smallfolk and disrupt trade in the harbor.”

 

“Have you had any success?”

 

“Some.  Not in the North— the other families won’t step in unless the Starks give the order, and so far Thelonius hasn’t responded to any of my ravens.  My mother’s people have promised one hundred foot and twenty heavy horse, but they would have to sail up from the Rainwood immediately, and they’re no good to us if the Wallaces’ blockade the harbor.  And one hundred and twenty men would be sorely outnumbered if the Wallaces raise all their bannermen.”

 

Bellamy shifted and let his arm drape over her shoulder.  “And the others?”

 

Clarke took another shaky breath.  “Marriage proposals.  My mother has been contacting every noble family with an unmarried son, but so far, they all are insisting on a long betrothal.”

 

Bellamy fought down the surge of jealously that arose in his chest, because he should have seen this coming.  She was a noblewoman and heir to a great house— even if she refused to marry Cage Wallace, she could not refuse to marry forever.  Her family depended on her having an heir.  He may have come to care for her, but in the end she was a great lady and he was a bastard in the Watch.  “Surely if you agreed to a betrothal, that would be enough to stop Cage?”

 

“I’m not sure that would be enough.  I need to be wedded and bedded in the eyes of the Seven and the old Gods to keep him at bay, but the families are all insisting on a two year’s betrothal before any marriage.”

 

“Why?”  Bellamy asked.

 

“Because otherwise, any children I bear my new husband in the first year would be followed by rumours.  They want to ensure that their family has a clear line to the seat of White Harbor, and that won’t happen if the smallfolk whisper that my son is a Reed.”  

 

Bellamy shifted and let her hair spill through his fingers.  “So what will you do?”

 

Clarke melted into him.  “I don’t know,” she whispered.  “I don’t know.”

 

***

 

It was a cold, brisk evening when Clarke announced it was high time Bellamy leave his solar.  “You’re the one who has kept me trapped here,” he grumbled.  If it had been up to him, he would have returned to his regular duties as soon as his stitches stopped oozing, but Clarke refused to let him over exert herself.

 

“Stop complaining and grab your cloak,” she ordered with a grin.  “You’re going to show me the end of the world.”

 

Bellamy pulled his black shadowskin cloak over his shoulders and followed her out of his chambers and down the stairs.  He tried to hide how winded he was just from the short walk across the courtyard but suspected Clarke knew anyway, given how she took his arm and let him rest some of his weight on her while the large cage lowered down the side of the wall.  Clarke helped him in and Bellamy gave the bell a sharp tug to signal to the men manning the winch.

 

With a loud groan of metal against ice the winch started dragging them up the wall, roughly and unevenly.  In better health he would have preferred the staircase that zigzagged up the Wall, but Bellamy had to admit a seven hundred foot climb was far beyond him at this moment.  Clarke seemed entranced by the way Castle Black shrank beneath them, and the lowering sun set her hair aglow as they neared the top.

 

Bellamy’s heart lurched, and it had little to do with the swaying of the cage.

 

Jasper and Monty had the Wall and exchanged sly grins as Bellamy and Clarke climbed out of the cage.  Bellamy glowered at them to little effect.  The wind flattened his cloak to his legs and set her skirts billowing.  Clarke had finished her new dress just days before and Bellamy still wasn’t used to seeing her in a gown like a proper lady.  He’d gotten used to her tromping around Castle Black in breeches and a jerkin like a brother of the Watch, but now he couldn’t tear his eyes from her.

 

She looked like a witch-queen from the stories he used to tell Octavia, dark and radiant at the same time.  The dark grey wool looked almost black in the gathering twilight, and the high collar in the back set off her ivory skin revealed by the deep scoop in the front.  Her tightly cinched waist showed off curves that the blacks she wore before only hinted at.  Clarke took his arm again and gently led him away from Monty and Jasper, who quickly ducked back into the warming shed.

 

They crunched down the icy gravel path, Clarke’s eyes wide with wonder.  They drew to a stop between the crenelations so Clarke would have a clearer view.  “My grandmother used to say you can see all the Seven Kingdoms from here, but I can’t even see White Harbor.  I’m beginning to think she was telling tales.”  

 

Bellamy chuckled and shifted to shield her from the wind.  He pointed to the southeast, his chin just above her shoulder.  “I think if you look closely, you can see the Wolf’s Den over there, just beyond that copse of trees,” he teased.  Clarke elbowed him gently, mindful of his wound, but didn’t pull away.  Slowly, hesitantly, Bellamy moved his hand to rest on the curve of her hip.  Clarke inhaled sharply, and keeping her eyes on the horizon, moved closer to him.  Her back pressed to his chest and her hair swirled in his face as he banded his arm around her waist and held her tightly.  Monty and Jasper were still in the warming shed and the other guards were still half a league away, so treason be damned.  “You know what I can’t give you, don’t you?” he whispered in her ear.

 

Clarke shut her eyes.  “I do.”  She craned her neck to look at him.  “But I choose it all the same.”

 

The air was cold but her mouth was warm and sweet, and Bellamy wondered how he had resisted her this long.  It had scarce been three turns of the moon since she arrived, but she already felt as though he couldn’t live without her.  Their necks were at an awkward angle, with her still in front of him, But Bellamy would not have moved for all the gold in Casterly Rock, because for the first time since he’d come to the Wall, he felt alive.

 

The sun sank below the horizon and the wind turned from chill to frigid.  “We should go,” Clarke murmured against his lips, and Bellamy reluctantly turned and walked with her back to the winch.  If Jasper and Monty noticed their swollen lips, they said nothing.  Bellamy’s mind whirled as the winch descended.  Clarke stood apart from him, giving no hint to what had passed between them upon the Wall, but what they had been dancing about for the past few weeks, ever since his injury, had now come to the fore.

 

He was in love with her.  That much was obvious.  And it was impossible.  That much was obvious as well.  She would one day soon return to her seat at White Harbor, and Bellamy had no choice but to stay.  If he left the Wall, his life was forfeit.  As lax as Commander Miller was when it came to the men whoring in Mole Town, this was different.

 

And yet he could not bring himself to care.  Not when he’d spent his whole meagre life doing what was needed— first with his mother to care for Octavia, and after his mother was gone, poaching despite the risk.  Then it was the Wall, a sentence of slowly freezing to death for the crime of being unwilling to starve.  He had given up wanting things long ago, but Clarke— gods, he wanted her.

 

Clarke kept pace with him across the courtyard, her cheeks flushed and a soft smile on her lips.  She ducked into his chambers before him and shut the door firmly.  Before he could speak, she pressed her fingers to his lips.  “I know.  Before you warn me again, I know.  But if I am to have no choice for the rest of my life, then let me choose you for tonight, and for however long we have each other.”

 

Bellamy kissed her fingertips gently and covered her hand with his own.  He pressed his forehead to hers.  “I wish it weren’t so,” he whispered.

 

“But it isn’t, and there’s no sense in dwelling.”  Clarke never flinched from a hard truth.

 

Bellamy brought his mouth down on hers, and she grasped his face in her hands, her fingers desperate and needy.  Bellamy hadn’t been with a woman in the years, not since he first came to the Wall.  He’d gone to Mole Town with his brothers once, but the woman was too sad, and he kept remembering his mother’s face when men from the town would stop by their cabin and she would send him and Octavia on a sudden errand.  He had never gone back and resigned himself to a long, cold life on the Wall, but now Clarke was before him and she was anything but cold.

 

Clarke was warmth and she was fire as they fumbled with each other’s clothes.  Bellamy attached his lips to the hollow under her ear and she worked the laces on his breeches open.  He managed to loosen her bodice and Clarke breathed hotly against his lips.  Her breasts were soft under her shift, and Clarke eagerly stripped him of his jerkin and they stumbled towards his bed.  When Clarke’s legs bumped against the frame he stopped and started gathering her shift in his hand, slowly bunching the thin material near her hips until he dragged it up and over her head.  She was beautiful in the firelight, her skin like silk, her hair like liquid gold.  And then her lips were on him, kissing his shoulder, his chest, his abdomen, pulling his breeches down as she knelt.

 

Bellamy knotted his fingers in her hair and urged her back up to meet his hungry mouth.  She pulled them backwards onto the bed and guided him down, pinning her knees on either side of his hips.  He trailed his fingertips up the inside of her thighs and gently parted her folds, stroking her and teasing her until her legs shook with the power of her release.  Bellamy licked his fingers clean of her as she sank onto him, and between her taste on his tongue and her walls around his cock Bellamy saw stars.

 

Clarke leaned forward and drew his lower lip between her teeth, soothing the bite with her tongue and rocking her hips forward.  He rested his hands on her waist as she moved slowly and methodically, never breaking their kiss.  Her breathing became irregular and Bellamy tangled his hands in her hair, tugging sharply and attaching his lips to her bared neck.  She let out a sharp cry as she came, but kept rolling her hips until Bellamy let the heat brewing in his belly unwind and spill inside of her.

 

Clarke drew lazy circles on his chest as they lay entwined.  “I’ll brew some moon tea tomorrow.  I have the herbs in my room.  You needn’t worry.”

 

Bellamy brushed some hair away from her face.  “I’m not.”  He kissed her forehead.  “But I wish— I wish circumstances weren't what they are.”

 

Clarke tipped her chin up to kiss him.  “Then let’s run away,” she teased.  “Where would you like to go?”

 

“I’ve never even left the North.  Have you?”

 

“Once.  We went to King’s Landing to meet the king and then to the Rainwood to meet my mother’s people.”

 

“What was it like?” he asked, nuzzling the crown of her head.

 

“Warm.  Everything was warm.  Even the rain.”

 

“Warm,” Bellamy repeated.  “That sounds nice.”  Feeling warm was a luxury in the North, as even during long summers the snows still fell.  Although now, with the fire going and Clarke entwined around him, he was warmer than he’d ever been.  “What about Dorne?”

 

Clarke out of the bed and padded across the room.  She poured a goblet of wine and smiled wickedly.  “I hear in Dorne women lie with women same as they lie with men.”

 

“So I’ve heard.  I’ve also heard the Queen-Beyond-the-Wall takes women as her consorts."  

 

“I think I’d like to meet this Queen-Beyond-the-Wall.  Mayhaps we should join your sister and be Free Folk.”  Clarke took a sip of the wine and handed it to him before joining him under the furs.

 

“Think you could be a spearwife?” Bellamy wiggled his eyebrows and downed the rest of the dornish red.  “There are no gowns beyond the wall.  No great ladies, either.”

 

Clarke burrowed her face in his chest.  “And what have I done to make you think I’m a great lady?  Was it walking around in borrowed blacks like a brother of the Watch or fucking you like a scullery maid?”

 

Bellamy rolled them over so he was astride her and shook his head before she could speak.  “Don’t you dare warn me about over exerting myself, m’lady, not after what we just did.”  He kissed her through their smiles.  “And you’re a great lady whether you want to be or not, but I must say, I prefer you like this to your gowns or blacks.”  

 

Clarke parted her thighs so he sank further into the cradle of her hips.  Bellamy felt himself stir and she smiled in response.  “So where shall we go?  Dorne or Beyond the Wall?”  Clarke arched her back to line him up at her entrance and he entered her slowly.

 

“Dorne,” Bellamy replied, hitching her thigh a little higher on his waist so he could press deeper inside her.  “I think I’d like to see you in nothing but scraps of silk.  I already know what you look like in furs.”

 

Clarke curled her fingers around his shoulders and held him close, his chest hovering just over hers.  “Then Dorne it is,” she whispered, sealing her lips to his.  It was a fleeting dream, but for now, he could almost believe in it.  He moved slowly, savoring the way her walls felt around his cock, drinking in her moans like he was stranded in the sands of Dorne.  She slipped her hand down and worked between her thighs, drawing herself to the brink just as Bellamy reached his.

 

***

 

Bellamy returned to his duties and everything was as it was before, except now in the evenings Clarke would help him with the ledgers and then crawl beneath his furs.  Some nights they turned to each other, naked and wanting, and some nights they simply held each other, Clarke’s head pillowed on his chest.

 

“Raven has offered one hundred spearmen,” Clarke said one night.  

 

Bellamy was distracted by the firelight playing across her skin and didn’t realize what she had said at first.  “Your mother still holds White Harbor, doesn’t she?”

 

“She does, but in her last letter she wrote that she suspects the Wallaces will move soon to block the harbor.  She’s moving what smallfolk that will behind the New Castle’s walls, but Cage is raising men.  He’ll move soon, she thinks.  With the men from Bear Island and the men my mother’s people would send, we might have enough to stop them.  But if the Wallaces’ blockade the harbor, I’m not sure how…”

 

Bellamy sat up abruptly.  “Eastwatch.  If they land at Eastwatch and make for Long Lake, you could take them down the White Knife.  Attack from there.”

 

Clarke leaned up to kiss his jaw.  “You’re brilliant.”  She kissed his jaw again, and then the corner of his mouth, and soon, all plans for battle were forgotten.

 

By the time the moon waned to a crescent, Bellamy was happier than he had ever been.

 

***

 

The raven Clarke had been dreading arrived at dusk.   _Dark wings, dark words_ his mother used to say, and this was no different.  Her face drained as she cracked open the seal.  “White Harbor is under siege.  A maid in my mother’s service now lives on a holdfast outside the city walls and found a travelling maester.  Says they’re shooting down ravens from the New Castle, so my mother is not like to get a message out.”

 

“How many men?” Bellamy asked, moving to her side.

 

“She doesn’t say.  But as soon as I receive word that my mother's men have landed at Eastwatch, I must leave at once.”  She clasped Bellamy’s hand tightly.  “You know why I have to go, don’t you?”

 

Bellamy pulled her to standing and cradled her face in his hands.  “I do.  I wish you didn’t, but I do.”

 

Desperate nights followed, full of fear and dread, and more often than not tears stained both their cheeks as he moved inside of her.  

 

***

 

Bellamy stood in front of the Lord Commander’s door and waited apprehensively.  If the commander was a different man Bellamy would never have dared broach his plan, but given his soft spot for Miller, he hoped the commander would understand.

 

Ser Miller opened his door and let Bellamy into his solar.  He poured them both a cup of wine and waited for Bellamy to speak.

 

“I wish to escort Lady Manderly back to White Harbor,” he said finally, forcing himself to meet the Lord Commander’s searching gaze.

 

“I thought as much,” the older man replied.  “You have come to care for her, have you not?”

 

“I have,” Bellamy admitted.  

 

“You know our words,” Ser Miller said with a hint of caution in his voice.

 

“I do.”

 

“And you know the penalty for desertion.”

 

“I do.  I will return.  I simply wish to see her safely returned to her seat.”

 

The Lord Commander walked to the narrow arrow slit that served as a window and clasped his hands behind him.  “Have you ever heard the story of how my son came to serve at the Wall?”

 

Bellamy was caught off guard by the shift in subjects and shook his head.  

 

Ser Miller sighed.  “You likely know most of the truth— his mother was a whore in Mole’s Town, and he came here a few years later.  But what most of my men do not know is that I loved her.  I loved her, and I grieved her when she died.  When we take our vows, we give up the right to have a family of our own, and more than once I’ve wondered if that is too much to ask.  I did not want my son to be a man of the Watch; I wanted more for him, and offered to send him back to my people when his mother succumbed to a winter fever.  But when the time came, I couldn’t let him go.  I told him he would never have to take the vows unless he chose to, and I must confess my greatest joy has been having my son here with me.”  He turned and faced Bellamy with a serious face.  “I know you did not choose the Wall freely.  I know you care for the young Lady Manderly.  But I know the pain that awaits you in White Harbor, and I do not envy you.”

 

“Thank you, ser,” Bellamy said.

 

“One man and one woman traveling down the kingsroad would raise eyebrows when she returns to White Harbor.  Best take an escort with you.  A dozen men, rangers and stewards both.  Ask for volunteers in the hall tonight.”  Ser Miller crossed the solar and clapped Bellamy on his shoulder.  “May the gods be with you, son.”

 

***

 

The kingsroad was lonely this far north— few traders bothered to go beyond Last Hearth unless they had business with Castle Black, and most days their party saw no one but crofters in their fields beyond the Gift.  Clarke traveled in her borrowed blacks, her long blonde braid hidden under the hood of her cloak.  To anyone passing by, she looked like nothing more than a brother of the watch, albeit one with a slighter build than most.  The dress she had made during her stay at Castle Black was safely tucked away in her pack, along with her sigil, the merman on a sea-green field.  

 

They had decided it would be safest for Clarke to reveal herself only once they reached the edge of White Harbor and were surrounded by her supporters.  Wallace might have spies along the kingsroad, and even if their ruse was discovered, a slight chance was better than none.  Clarke spent the her nights like any other brother of the Watch, in a solitary bed roll a studied distance from Bellamy.  Tents were too much of a burden for one night so they went without, which also meant no chance for privacy.  She seemed sad and withdrawn as they rode towards their end.  They had known that White Harbor spelled their doom before he so much as kissed her, but now it was undeniable and it hung heavy upon them both.

 

They made camp at the north end of Long Lake to wait for Lady Raven and the men from Griffin’s Landing.  Lady Raven arrived on the second day with a full complement of men and a enough provisions for them all.  She swung off her horse before her party had all arrived and marched to Clarke, drawing the shorter woman into a long, fierce hug.  “Wick, see to my pavilion.  Lady Manderly and I have things to discuss,” she ordered, and the fair haired steward who had flanked her on their approach got to work setting up the large bearskin tent, into which she and Clarke disappeared.

 

It was full dark when Monty approached Bellamy where he sat glumly by the fire.  “Lady Mormont and Lady Manderly would like to speak with you,” he said.  Bellamy ducked into the pavilion to find Clarke curled onto a chaise with a bearskin tucked up under her chin.  She looked wan and her eyes were red-rimmed as if she’d been crying.  Lady Raven took a long look at him and clucked her tongue.  “Wick will be wanting to go over our supplies.  I shall be gone for quite some time,” she announced before slipping out of the back.

 

Bellamy perched on the edge of the chaise and brushed her hair off her forehead.  “Are you alright, m'lady?”

 

Clarke shook her head.   “I have some news— I didn’t want to alarm you so I didn’t tell you right away, and then I didn’t know what to do, but I’ve spoken to Raven and--”

 

Bellamy held up a hand and stood.  “Shh, slow down,” he soothed, because the rapid pace of her words had him more worried than anything else.  “What happened?”

 

Her eyes closed and her breasts heaved as she took a deep breath.  “I’m with child, Bellamy.  I took the moon tea, I did, but it doesn’t always work and— I’m with child.”

 

He felt dazed, as though he had taken a blow to the head.  “With child?” he repeated.   _Treason.  The noose, the axe if I’m lucky._

 

“I am.  A few months along, most like.”  She wiped the tears from her cheeks.  “But I spoke with Raven, and I have a plan.  It might— you may not like it, but it would save us both.  Lady Raven said on Bear Island, women in her family often...do not marry.  They take lovers but do not give their children bastard names. They insist they are legitimate and fathered by a bear.”

 

“A bear?”  Bellamy said again, his brain desperately trying to keep up.

 

“A bear.  But when she and I spoke, she suggested another option.  Finn.”

 

“But Finn has been dead—”

 

“This past half year.  Others will likely suspect the lie, but the smallfolk loved my father very much.  And if I was unable to marry for two years to keep rumours about my children’s parenthood at bay, why should I not use those rumours to my advantage?  Lady Mormont is the only other person who knows the truth; everyone else would simply suspect.”

 

“Unless someone cared to do the math,” he pointed out.  “Few women carry a child for a full year before birth.”

 

“True.  But in the eyes of the smallfolk, one day is very like any other.  My husband left on a warm summer day— what is it to say that it was simply a month or two later than they remembered?  It’s a bold lie, but if it provides an heir to the seat of White Harbor few will care.”  She ran her fingers through his hair and he closed his eyes, realizing how starved he had been for her touch these past nights.  “It is a lie that will save your life as well.  The Lord Commander will likely guess the truth, but I have faith he will understand and look the other way so long as I do not flaunt our relationship.”

 

“With child,” he said for a third time.  “My child.”  He had thought he was giving that up the day he took the black and a small seed of hope bloomed in his chest.  His child, with Clarke.  A child he may never see and would never be able to acknowledge, but a child nonetheless.  He shifted and drew her into his lap, holding her close.  “A child.”

 

“A child,” she said through her tears.  Clarke tucked her face into the crook of his neck and he placed his hand on her belly where there was already a slight swell. _A baby._  He pulled her closer and there they stayed, wrapped in each other’s arms, until Raven returned.

  
  


***

  
  


White Harbor emerged before them just as Bellamy smelled the sea.  He reined his horse beside Clarke as she took in her home, surrounded by enemy troops.  The city itself was picturesque, with its white buildings and dark grey roofs, but all around it lay the signs of war.  Wallace was building siege engines and two trebuchets already stood at the ready, threatening the walls.

 

Clarke and her men had disembarked from the river runner several leagues back.  It appeared Wallace had not bothered to send out scouts and their advance went unnoticed.  “How are you, m’lady?” he asked, keeping his courtesies so as to raise the suspicions of any of the dozens of men sent by Griffin’s Landing and Bear Island.

 

“It’s strange,” she said with a sorrowful look.  “Difficult.  To see my home threatened.”

 

Bellamy swallowed thickly.  “You’ll get it back, m’lady,” he said uselessly.  Rage burned inside him as he looked at Wallace’s siege lines— this man was a danger to Clarke and his child, and he wanted nothing more than to ride straight into camp and tear each Mountain Man into pieces with his bare hands.  He wanted to destroy Wallace and wished to the gods old and new he’d had the foresight to kill him when he had a chance that day on the kingsroad.  “I’ve never been this far south before,” he observed.

 

A hint of a smile played at her lips.  “Warmer, is it not?”

 

“Considerably, m’lady,” he replied with a ghost of a grin.

 

Lady Mormont’s steward reined up along side them and cast Bellamy a searching look.  “Lady Manderly, my lady would like a word,” he said, and with one last anguished glance at Bellamy, Clarke took her leave.

 

Clarke had spent the trip down the White Knife huddled in the cabin she shared with Raven planning for every contingency, but in the end they had decided to survey the Mountain’s camp before determining a final plan.  Torches burned in Raven’s pavilion as night fell, and still Clarke didn’t emerge.  Men went in and men went out, and when the moon was high in the sky Monty sat down next to Bellamy.

 

“They don’t have enough men,” Monty said, taking a sip of watery beer and handing his horn to Bellamy.

 

“They have a plan,” Bellamy said firmly.

 

“She still doesn’t have enough men,” Miller said from Bellamy’s other shoulder.  “The siege lines are too long.  She can’t flank them and she can’t run through the heart of the camp with the men she has.  It’s hopeless.”

 

Bellamy tightened his jaw and glared at the fire.  He was no commander and had never led men into a real battle, but he had been thinking the same thing since he saw the camp.  Wallace had nearly a thousand men besieging White Harbor, and their few men, no matter how loyal, would be slaughtered if Clarke tried.

 

“I saw an irrigation system up the White Knife,” Monty said, as though that was somehow relevant.  “A dam.  Well built.”

 

“That’s nice,” Bellamy grumbled.

 

“The Mountain Men’s camp is low,” he said.  “Very low, in fact.”  Bellamy grunted and Monty sighed.  “If the dam failed, the siege camp would be washed away.”

 

“Clarke’s father designed that dam; I doubt it’s like to fail any time soon,” Bellamy countered.

 

Then it was Miller’s turn to sigh.  “Unless you knew someone who could make it fail,” he said.  “Perhaps another steward in the Night’s Watch who spends far too much time experimenting with phosphorus.”

 

It took Bellamy a moment to comprehend what his men were offering, but the instant he did he stood.  “We have to tell her,” he ordered, and Monty followed him with a grim nod.

 

Clarke and Raven caught on to Monty’s plan far more quickly than Bellamy.  “Where would we get the phosphorus?” Clarke asked, standing behind a table with a map spread before her.

 

“One of the rivermen mentioned a trader— he should have it.  It wouldn’t take much, not if we placed it correctly.  All we need to do is destroy one side and the Knife will do the rest.”  Monty stopped and looked directly at Clarke.  “But m’ladies should know, we would not be able choose the course of the river.  There will be casualties.”

 

“Casualties are the point of war,” Raven replied.

 

“I meant civilian casualties,” Monty said.  “There would be no way of protecting Lady Manderly’s smallfolk, and warning them might risk Wallace and his men finding out.”

 

Sadness filled Clarke’s eyes, but she looked at Bellamy and nodded.  “It’s the only way.  Lady Mormont, could one of your men procure the phosphorus?”

 

“I’ll send someone right away, my lady,” Wick said from Raven’s left.

 

A heavy silence fell and Clarke tore her gaze from Bellamy.  “The Night’s Watch takes no part,” she told Monty.  He opened his mouth to protest but she shook her head.  “If word gets out, you’ll be hanged.  I will not have your deaths on my conscience as well.  Leave instructions for the phosphorus with Wick and ride for the Wall at first light.”

 

Her words were like a dagger to his heart, but Bellamy saw their wisdom and followed Monty to their bedrolls.  He tossed and turned all night and gave up before the first rays of light appeared to the east.  He rose, and by the time the rest of the men woke and broke their fast, he had their horses readied.

 

***

 

They were watering the horses a half day’s ride away when Monty turned to him.  “Go back,” the dark-haired man whispered.  “The Lord Commander can look the other way if one man is late.”

 

“She needs you,” Miller said, coming up from behind Bellamy.  “And you need her.  Go.  Say goodbye— my father will understand.”  Bellamy clapped his friends on their backs and mounted his horse without another thought.

 

Bellamy’s horse was well lathered when he reached the dam.  He waved to the archers, men from Griffin’s Landing that he’d gotten to know on the trip down the Knife, and made his way to the bank of the river.  He found Clarke overseeing two men as they unwound a long cord from a small alcove.  Clarke held a small torch, not yet necessary in the soft light of dusk, and waved her men away.  Bellamy waited until they had gone and climbed down the rocky bank, sending several pebbles down and alerting Clarke.  She didn’t seem surprised to see him, only resigned.  “You shouldn’t be here,” she said sadly.

 

“I shouldn’t be anywhere but here,” he countered.  

 

“They are my people.  My burden.”

 

He covered her hand on the torch with his, noting how she shook but not from the cold.  “I won’t leave you,” he said, and Clarke closed her eyes in resignation.  “Together,” he said, and they guided the torch down to the cord.  It hissed as the fire took hold and they darted away.  Bellamy lifted Clarke up and over a boulder before following, scrambling up the rocks and dashing across the soft meadow.

 

The explosion was loud, but the roar of the released water was deafening.  They ran for higher ground, Clarke’s men close behind.  Despite her skirts Clarke mounted Bellamy’s horse with ease and helped him up behind her.  She made for the highest ground they could see and reined to a stop.

 

Below them, the river swallowed everything in its path, surging and charging with the force of a hundred armies.  They heard the screams as it approached the siege lines, but the silence that eventually followed was worse.  Bellamy fit his arms around Clarke’s waist and laid a protective hand over her stomach.  “You had to,” he whispered.  “For our child.  For your people.”

 

A tear dripped from her chin and splattered on the back of his hand.

 

**

 

Clarke had wanted Bellamy to leave following the destruction of the Mountain’s camp, but he refused and so a plain brown cloak was procured from Raven’s steward to cover his blacks.  With that he was simply one foot soldier among hundreds, following a conquering lord back into her castle.  Bellamy marched with the others up the Castle Stair and into the New Castle, Clarke riding grim but determined at their fore.

 

She dismounted in the yard and strode into the Merman’s Court, her shoulders straight and her jaw clenched.  Bellamy crowded in with the rest of the men and watched her curtsy to the woman in the Merman’s chair.  Her hair was brown instead of Clarke’s brown, but he recognized the long braid over her shoulder as the way Clarke had worn her hair in those days on the Wall when he had been free to love her.

 

“Mother,” Clarke said formally.  “I have returned, and the Mountain threatens us no more.”

 

Abigail rose and curtsied in return.  “Welcome home, my child.  I thank you for vanquishing our foe and I am glad you are well.  Your seat awaits you, Lady Manderly.”  She stepped down and Clarke took her place, regal and composed.  

 

Still standing, Clarke turned to the court’s retainers.  “I have returned bearing my husband’s heir,” she said, but no hint of a lie flickered in her eyes.  “The Mountain’s treachery forced me to flee for fear of my child’s safety, but with their defeat I can return to my seat once more.”  She placed a hand on her stomach for emphasis.  “This babe, a trueborn child of House Manderly, will be my heir, male or female.  To honor my beloved's memory, I shall never marry and this child will one day sit on the Merman's chair.  I thank you for protecting my mother and my birthright, and for protecting this city for my heir.”

 

Clarke out nodded to Wick, who pushed his way back through the crowd and left.  “Mother, you’ve not met Lady Raven Mormont of Bear Island,” she said, and Raven moved forward.

 

Abigail curtsied.  “White Harbor owes you a great debt, my lady,” she said, and thus began the courtesies. Every man who had traveled with their party was commended, and by the time Clarke had thanked every last foot soldier Bellamy’s legs were aching.

 

Then she stood and motioned to the man who had been standing silently below her chair, his greatsword strapped to his back.  “And now the traitor,” she declared, and led her people back out into the yard.

 

Wick stood with an old man bound near his feet.  The prisoner shared the same cold eyes as his son, but with Cage drowned in Clarke’s flood, Dante Wallace was all that remained of the Mountain Men.

 

Clarke looked down her nose at him.  “Dante Wallace, Lord of Mount Weather, here in the sight of gods and men I find you guilty of treason to your liege lord.  Your lands and monies are forfeit, as is your life.  I condemn you in the name of Thelonius Stark, Warden of the North, and Daeron Targaryen, Second of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and in their name I take your life.  Have you made peace with your gods?”

 

Dante pushed himself into a kneeling position, somehow looking regal despite his chains.  “I have, my lady.”

 

“Will you speak a final word?”

 

“I did what I must for my people,” he said, and laid his head against the block.

 

The man from the foot of the chair drew his sword, but Clarke held out her hand.  She took it and struggled briefly with the weight, but then raised it above her head, the dark grey steel of Old Valyria glittering in the afternoon sun, and brought it down on his neck in a swift, practiced move.

 

Wallace’s head fell with a sickening thump and Clarke’s eyes found Bellamy’s in the crowd.  The anguish in them threatened to suffocate him but he forced himself to meet her gaze until she dropped it, handing the sword back to the Captain of her Guard.  Bellamy let himself be carried out of the New Castle with the crowd and refused to look back for fear he would not have the strength to leave.

 

***

  
  


A winter wind whistled around the corners of the New Castle and Bellamy blinked the sleep from his eyes.  Something had woken him but for a moment, he couldn’t identify the sound.  Then he heard it again— a smothered giggle from somewhere near his feet.  He sat up quickly and scooped Jacob off the floor, turning the giggles into high-pitched squeals.  “Trying to surprise your lady mother?”

 

Clarke pushed herself up on one elbow.  “Who is the monster making such a racket in the morning?  Did you catch yourself a grumpkin?” she asked Bellamy.

 

“I did, my lady.  A nasty little grumpkin at that,” he said, tickling Jacob as he squirmed into the middle of the bed.

 

Clarke bent and placed a kiss to her son’s brow.  “Septa Harper will be sore with you for sneaking out again,” she scolded, although there was no heat behind it.  

 

Jacob flopped onto his back and let Clarke run her fingers through his fine, dark hair.  There was little of Bellamy in his son save for the color of his hair, a boon from the gods if there ever was one.  “How long is Bellamy staying?” he asked.

 

“At least a fortnight,” Bellamy answered.  “The merchants of White Harbor have been most vexing this year, so I have had to return more often than usual.”  He shared a conspiratorial grin with Clarke, memories of their reunion the night before still fresh in his mind.

 

“Momma’s going to have a baby,” Jacob explained, clearly feeling himself very much a man of the world for having such knowledge.

 

“She is?” Bellamy asked in mock-surprise while Clarke hastily turned her laugh into a cough.  “When?”

 

“In the next fortnight, says Maester Jackson,” Jacob answered seriously.  “Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll meet her.”

 

“Her?”

 

“I want a sister,” Jacob said decidedly.  “A wildling sister, like you.”

 

“A sister she might be, but if she’s born south of the wall like you she isn’t like to be a wilding,” Bellamy said.

 

Jacob looked disappointed, but a gentle knock at the door sent him scurrying under the covers.  “In here,” Clarke called, and Septa Harper opened the heavy wooden door.  “My son may think me a traitor, but I think it’s time for him to break his fast,” Clarke called.

 

Harper smiled.  “Your son?  I don’t see your son anywhere, my lady, just a giggling lump on a bed.”  Jacob giggled loudly again and she pounced, pulling him out and smoothing back his mussed hair.

 

“We’ll see you soon, little fish,” Clarke said, blowing a kiss.

 

When the door closed behind them Clarke snuggled into Bellamy’s arms as best she could.  “The smallfolk have begun to talk,” she said against his skin.  “They’re saying my first child was fathered by a ghost and my second by a crow.”

 

Bellamy kissed the crown of her head.  “Does that worry you?”

 

She shook her head, her lips brushing his collarbone.  “It’s only talk, and the smallfolk will always talk.  There doesn’t seem to be any malice behind it, just gossip.”

 

“Lord Commander Miller has a message for you, my lady,” he said.  Clarke hummed, too busy kissing his chest to respond.  “He said that if I may trespass on the hospitality of House Manderly, he wishes me to stay until the trading is complete for the year, even if that should overlap with the arrival of your precious babe.”

 

Clarke rested her chin on his abdomen.  “When does he want you back on the Wall?”

 

“Not for another moon’s turn at least.  Possibly two or three, should the merchants prove intransigent.”  

 

“They are a difficult lot,” she said with a grin.  

 

Bellamy cuffed a hand behind her head and drew her back up for a long, lingering kiss.  It was not the life he would have chosen, but it was a good life nonetheless.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to the Lady Jal/thefairfleming for her encouragement and advice. (Also, Clarke's speech to Dante is based on Robb's speech to Karstark before his execution in A Storm of Swords.)


End file.
